


unlace those running shoes

by Darth Occlus (NotSummer)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Boundaries, Coffee Shops, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSummer/pseuds/Darth%20Occlus
Summary: Professor Miyala Naida has been doing just fine on her own, spending weekends alone at coffee shops and going home to her cramped apartment. She's perfectly happy being independent, thank you very much. Isolation suits her.Grad Student and former Special Forces Lieutenant Jesse Morrison is well on his way to his eventual dream of getting his PhD. He just needs an adviser for his thesis, although if his nightmares from his time in the service could stop, that would be great, too.





	unlace those running shoes

**Author's Note:**

> This is easily the longest story I have ever written, and I wanted it published before 2018.

“Professor Naida? I had a question about your dissertation on the use of psychology to trigger certain emotional states within campaign ads.”

Miyala Naida, as an attractive young female professor was used to hearing pick up lines, but the voice from behind her sounded more interested in her body of research than, well, her body. She placed her tablet in her worn black bag between the latest Psychology Today journal and her issue of Time before turning to the student.

Or perhaps not a student, considering the human before her was more her age. “You're not one of my students,” she said, hoping to draw out more about him. He had a Republic tattoo on the right side of his face, and his posture was confident and straight. Military, she guessed, applied to her college on the GI Bill.

His gaze turned shy and bashful. “No. I got waitlisted. Your classes are popular. I read your articles though. And the interview in Aldera Post.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, and muttered, quietly, “Big fan.”

“That… really? Most people aren’t too interested in how specific word choices and their cultural connotations can affect voting patterns. Unless they’re campaign managers. And they often just ask me, instead of wading through the actual academic text.”

“Academia does seem to promote a certain writing style,” he said, cracking a slight smirk.

Miyala huffed, and turned back to her desk. “Pompous, verbose, unnecessary, preening, self congratulatory…” She threw her pens into the small flap on the front of her bag and shrugged it onto her shoulder, turning back to her interviewer. “Yes.”

He smiled, ducking his head. “It wasn’t as bad as some of the CompSci theses.” He paused, and blanched. “I’m Jesse. Jesse Morrison.” 

She shook his outstretched hand, and wryly said, “Miyala Naida, but I think you knew that.”

He shuffled his feet, smiling down at the ground before his head jerked back up. “Yes, ma’am-. Professor.”

She smiled slightly, and told him, “Miyala works fine. I’m out of class, anyways. And don’t ma’am me. I’m not much older than you.”

“We’re the same age.” He blanched, suddenly, and Miyala covered her mouth as she tried to stop a laugh from escaping. He’s clearly done his homework on her. “I mean-.”

“You’ve looked me up then?”

He hesitated, and then sighed, clearly thinking it was best to be honest. “I wrote most of the Wikipedia article.”

Miyala blinked “I have a wikipedia article? That’s… amazing!” Professors in rather specific subsets of fields were often fallen to the wayside, never gaining the recognition some of their colleagues in more popular fields. Of course, to the right people, you were alway a celebrity, but the number of right people was rather small.

He turned red, but nodded. She smiled, and gestured for him to walk with her as she strolled towards the door. She had papers to grade, and she needed to get home, but she wouldn’t mind extending this conversation. “What, exactly, was your original question?”

“Whether you had explored the option of virtual intelligence and neural networks to mimic predicted voting patterns, especially in relation to new ad campaigns.”

Miyala stopped dead in her tracks. No. She’s never considered, wouldn’t even have thought to- “I must admit computers are not quite my expertise. I use them mostly for word processing and browsing the holonet.”

“Oh.”

Miyala winced. Technology wasn’t her area of expertise, and she was used to this reaction. His expression was a mix of disappointment, consternation, and pensiveness, but he brightened.

“I’m working on my graduate thesis: I have two years, but obviously you can’t wait until the last minute. Would- Could-” He broke off, hesitating, scowling slightly. His hands gestured in front of him, as he tried to find the words, but dropped to his sides.

“You want to work together. Your technological expertise and my psychological expertise.” Miyala rubbed at her chin, considering. “Sure. I have papers to grade tonight, but do you want to meet me for dinner and we can hash out details and exactly what it is you’re proposing?”

“Of course!” The words rushed out like he couldn’t contain them, a self satisfied smile breaking out over his face. “It is for my Master’s in Computer Science, but since it had a strong psychological component, and one that was related to your work, I wanted to ask you to be my advisor for my thesis.”

They reached the doors exiting the building. Miyala could see her reflection in them- the cleaning crew must have come by recently. They got smudged very quickly by the amount of students. Cons of having a glass exterior to the science building.

Professors Traska and Vyirin were talking in the seating area just to the left of the doors, and they waved as Miyala and Jesse passed. Traska called out, “I know, I know! What’s a damn liberal arts professor doing here?”

“Traitor to the cause, Ilia!” Miyala grinned back at the electrical engineering professor. The campus rivalry between the liberal arts teachers and the STEM teachers was legendary, and a great source of amusement for all. Jesse snorted, next to her as Shaa rolled her eyes at Ilia. The two women had caused a campus scandal when they revealed they were dating. Ilia was planning to propose soon, and had already extracted a promise from Miyala to be her Maid of Honor. Traska refocused her gaze on Jesse, though, and stood up, gliding over with her notoriously predatory gait. She often used it to scare incoming freshman in her classes- Professor Traska rarely had problems with her students in class. “Morrison. You missed two classes last week. Ordinarily I wouldn’t care, but I have five students in that class and when I miss one the week I assign group projects, it’s an issue.”

He blanched. “I know, Professor Traska. I already holomailed you and contacted Cody about what I missed.” Guilt radiated off him, but it was mixed with a defensiveness that caught Miyala off guard.

Traska stared at him, then understanding suddenly crossed her gaze. “The pyrotechnics team was shooting off fireworks all last week.”

He nodded, and Ilia’s harsh demeanor faded. “I’ll get Shaa to grab the schedule for the pyrotechnics squad for the rest of the year. They usually only shoot off their fireworks three or four times a year. I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant surprise.”

“No, ma’am.” He paused, and added quietly, “Thank you.”

Ilia nodded, and without another word, turned and left to glide back to Shaa. Jesse glanced defensively at Miyala, clearly expecting her to say something, or reject his thesis. She was silent for two, three, heartbeats, but she knew her answer.

“There’s a caf shop called Kaas-Caf Beanery I like to grade papers at on Saturdays and Sundays. I’m usually there all day, if you would like to meet me at some point to discuss your thesis and my role as advisor.”

He grinned in relieved surprise, and Miyala couldn’t stop her lips from quirking up in response. She started walking again, headed to her speeder as she shifted her bag on her shoulder. A huff escaped him, and she heard quick footsteps behind her from where he followed her again.

“Miyala? I wanted to say thank you. And, uh, have a nice night.”

As she opened the door, she smiled, her nails tapping against the faded purple paint of her old beater as she rested her arm on the top of the door. “You too, Jesse.”

* * *

 

Idiots, idiots, idiots. What was she thinking, agreeing to teach the freshman course “Intro to Psychology”? (She had been thinking it would be a nice to do for Professor Ternalii who was out on medical leave.) Miyala privately swore to herself it would be the last time she would ever teach freshmen. Entitled brats.

She put on a smile as one of the younger students approached to ask a question. It turned into a real smile when it turned out to be an actual question about the lecture. After she gave the student the answer to her question about psychological events and disorders, she sat back down in her chair with a huff as she surveyed the empty room.

Or not empty. She smiled as she saw the familiar blue leather jacket with white striping slip into her classroom. Jesse placed a coffee down on her desk and she grabbed for it greedily. “You remembered my coffee order!”

“Caramel Macchiato with extra whip.” He looked pleased with himself, and Miyala rolled her eyes, grinning at him after.

“I do suppose I order it a lot.”

“It’s the only thing I ever see you drink,” he said. He raised his own cup of black caf, and shrugged. They both had their favorites. He abruptly changed the subject. “I finished the proposal to the committee outlining what I want to do for my thesis.”

“That was quick.”

“I’m motivated.” He grinned and added, “Plus, Kix is my roommate, and I can’t let him show me up with his medical thesis.”

“Friendly competition?”

“Another cousin of mine. Large family.”

“I was an only child.” Miyala frowned. “To my knowledge.”

He gaped. “You don’t know your family? What do you at holidays?”

She blinked, and shifted. “Celebrate alone.” An awkward subject, to say the least, but being removed from her own parents and then going through a nasty few sets of foster parents had left her wary of family events.

He scowled. “You shouldn’t celebrate alone.” So scandalized was his tone that Miyala thought she might have murdered the family pet in front of him. “You can come to our family Memorial Day weekend,” he informed her.

“I have papers to grade.”

“Cody will be doing paperwork for his internship with the police department.”

“I can’t cook, I won’t be able to bring anything.”

“Hardcase burned down the entire kitchen and Dex’s caters for cheap.”

She stared at him. “You’re not going to give me an out, are you?”

He frowned at her, and Miyala suddenly regretted her harsh tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t have to celebrate all your holidays alone.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, the sleeves bunching up. “Nor should you be so worried about family events.”

Well, that was right on the mark. “You don’t need to psychoanalyze a psychology professor. And besides, it wouldn’t be…. Proper. You’re still a student.”

“A graduate student who is in none of your classes. We’ve met outside the campus for six weeks now. Only  _ now  _ there’s a problem?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and Miyala huffed, deflating.

“You’re right,” she sighed, shifting her grip on her coffee cup. He ducked his head to try and hide a smile, and for that, she added, “But buy me a coffee first.”

His head shot up, searching her eyes, and Miyala added hurriedly before he made any assumptions, “I want to see your proposal before you submit it.” She pointed at him, “If I’m attaching my name to anything, it better be quality work.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t press and it disappeared quickly enough that Miyala convinced herself she was seeing things. Not that she was looking for anything.

That would be silly.

* * *

 

Dex’s  _ was _ pretty cheap. Miyala browsed the site’s menu in bed before scowling, and texting Jesse.

What food should I get

Anything

Not helping Morrison

We will literally eat anything. Get what you want.

:(

:)

>:(

Anything, really.

Looking forward to you being there.

You don’t have to come, but I’m glad you are.

I know

Thanks for the invite.

No problem.

You’re surprisingly fun to hang around

Wait a minute

:)

Jesse.

Seen 8:35 pm

* * *

 

Miyala hefted the bags in her hands, nervously standing outside the door to Jesse’s house. The lawn was neatly trimmed, the bushes were well kept, and an old mesquite hung over the yard. She used her elbow to hit the doorbell again, grimacing as the heavy bags cut deeper into her hands. She looked around nervously again, wondering if she could call a strategic retreat before the door opened.

The house was right next to campus. If she walked quickly, she could stuff these pies in her office fridge and celebrate alone. She liked pie, she could eat them on her own.

Alas. The door flung open, and a tall blonde man who looked surprisingly like Jesse opened the door. Miyala must have looked startled at the resemblance, because he said, “I know, I look just like Jesse. We’ve got a strong family resemblance.” He rolled his eyes and added, “Family next door nicknamed us the clone army. Whole family of kids who look alike invading the neighborhood.”

Miyala smiled, but her movements were jerky, unsure. He paused. “Let me take those for you. I’ll put them in the kitchen- Do they need to be refrigerated?”

“Um. Yes. Please. Thank you.”

He smirked slightly, and pointed her down the hallway and to the left. He disappeared after hanging a right around the corner. Miyala toed off her shoes before heading down the hall and she hesitated on the threshold. The boloball game was on, and there was a mess of men cheering wildly for the running player. As he scored, there were loud whoops, and rambunctious slaps on the back. 

“I didn’t introduce myself earlier,” the one who answered the door said, returning from the kitchen to stand next to her. “I’m Rex. Oldest of this bunch. Part of the Morrison branch. Jesse, Hardcase, Tup, and Echo and Fives are my younger brothers. Cody,” he gestured at the man leaning against the wall, who raised his beer bottle to them in a lazy salute, “is the eldest of the Baker bunch. Waxer, Boil, and Kix are his younger brothers.”

She nodded, memorizing the names. Jesse was conspicuously absent, but that was solved as she heard the front door open and shut. She leaned back into the hallway to see him chucking off the blue and white jacket while trying to hold onto…

“Is that a caramel macchiato?” she glided down the hallways to take the coffee tray from him so he could take his jacket off easier. The black shirt he wore underneath had the Republic cog on it, and it clung tightly to his frame. Miyala fought hard to keep her eyes from tracing the movement of his muscles, and was rather proud when she succeeded.

“Black for me, Caramel macchiato for you, Frappe with soy milk, no whip, dark chocolate and three extra pumps of mint for Rex, and tea for Cody. Others were happy with beer,” he finished wryly. Rex snorted as he carefully took his drink from the tray, and retreated back down the hall in time for a massive cheer to rise from the living room.

Miyala smiled slightly, and turned back to Jesse. “Should we join them?”

“Sure. If you need to escape, go across the hall into the dining room and turn right to the kitchen. It’s been designated as the quiet room in the house.”

Miyala started to ask why, but he added quietly, “Almost all of us are combat veterans, and sometimes we need to be away from the noise and people.”

She nodded, and he led the way into the room, stopping to give Cody his tea before flopping onto the couch. Miyala waved awkwardly before sitting between him and Tup, tucking her feet underneath her and sipping delicately from her macchiato.She clasped the cup tightly to hide the shaking of her hands and focused on the bolo game trying to divert her brain from its ensuing panic.

Miyala didn’t do family.

Family to her meant trouble. It meant hiding under the bed, it meant invasions of privacy and it meant having to conform to unrealistic expectations and it meant being handed off after a few months after her fosters had gotten their tax exemption.

She looked around at brothers and cousins having fun and loving each other and cheering for their team clearly enjoying each other’s company…. And it was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong  _ wrong _ .

A nudge distracted her, and she looked to her left. Tup grinned slightly at her, “Which is your team? Kamino or Ryloth?”

“Kaminoans are dirty long-necks. I hope you aren’t rooting for them,” Fives said, sitting on the back of the couch. He grinned to take the sting out of his words, and Miyala couldn’t help a smile back.

Her lekku curled over her shoulders, and she tapped her lek. “Ryloth, clearly.”

Fives’ grin grew larger. “They have the prettiest fans.” Echo looked up to roll his eyes and elbow Fives, and Fives winced. “I mean, uh.”

Miyala snorted, the edges of her panic receding. This was familiar territory- being flirted with was easy and normal.

“I suppose I can take a compliment,” she stated imperiously, intensifying her Kaas accent.

“You’re an Imp!” Hardcase sat up, gaping at her. “How did you find your way to the Republic?”

“I’m a Twi’lek woman. I didn’t exactly  _ want _ to stay in the Empire, so I emigrated. The Republic has been much kinder.” Understanding nods followed her words, and she relaxed quietly if hesitantly. That had been her chance to get uninvited from this and all future parties, and they didn’t take the bait.

“Imps are a bunch of fascist, imperialist…” Hardcase’s muttering quieted until she couldn’t hear, but she smirked. They held the same opinions.

Jesse huffed behind her. “You aren’t getting out of future invitations that easily.”

She craned her head to give him a bashful smile. He’d spent enough time with her to know what she had been trying to do. Exasperation darkened his eyes as he shook his head at her. Her smile widened until it was genuine, and her lekku curled up. 

She heard a quiet chuckle, and turned back to Tup, who was failing to hide his grin as he shook his head at them. She mock-glared at him, and he put his hands up before they both turned to the screen to watch Ryloth score. Miyala let out a loud whoop, joining the family in cheering, her last worries melting away.

* * *

 

“The pyrotechnics team is gonna be shooting off fireworks tonight.” They were celebrating the end of the spring semester. It had been a busy semester, even if time had flown by. Miyala had her last papers to grade and then she was done for the summer, since she didn’t teach any summer semester classes, but instead would be giving lectures at various colleges around the Republic.

Jesse’s head jerked up, and he narrowed his eyes. “Brilliant. Just what I needed. I’ve been trying to find time to debug this section and tonight of all nights is when they decide to shoot off fireworks.” His hands clenched, and the panic in his eyes betrayed the false levity in his voice. His shoulders hunched as he started down at the scattered flimsi diagrams at the desk he’s moved into her formerly spacious (but now a tad cramped) office.

The old lamp in the corner, flickered, throwing his face into sharp contrasts of light and dark, and Miyala stood, walking over to place a hand on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his own, and Miyala said, “My apartment is further from campus. If you want. If it would help.”

His eyes stared off blankly, but he shook himself and nodded. “It would. How comfy is your couch?” 

The wry tone didn’t fool her, and she squeezed his shoulder again. “Comfy enough,” was all she said, and his hand tapped hers gratefully. “I’ll pick you up at 6? I need to clean up the place a bit,” she said, striding back to her desk to grab her bag and the files of papers she still needed to grade.

He nodded, and she headed for the door, stopping only to wrap her arm around his shoulders in a half hug, the best she could manage with her arms full.

* * *

 

At 5:55, she pulled up to Jesse’s house. Fives and Hardcase were sitting outside with lawn chairs and bright blue drinks with mini umbrellas. “It’s nice to know someone is gonna enjoy the fireworks. Hardcase grinned, the giant frilly blue sunglasses he wore obscuring his eyes, and Fives cheekily tipped his straw hat a her. “Ridiculous, both of you.” She swept past them indoors. Jesse was in his own room, and she navigated the now familiar corridors of the Morrison home to knock on his door.

When she got an answered grunt, she snorted softly, and entered. He glanced up at her, but his eyes went right back to his computer in front of him. He was kneeling on the floor with his bag dropped to his left and his computer sitting on the bed where he was typing furiously on it.

“You know, I could have made my apartment dirtier and it would still be neater.”

He grunted again, his fingers flying over the keyboard, but stood up, making like he was about to turn and greet her. His fingers slowed, and finally he spoke. “Sorry. Thought I found the bug. Force knows I may have just created a few more”

BOOM.

A firework went off, and he dove, pulling her down to the ground, and covering her body with his own. In the silence after, Miyala heard a buzz, and pulled out her phone, wiggling it out from under her body.

**Pyutro**

Misfire. Sorry.

Jesse’s arms were shaking but tight around her, and she tapped his arm. “Jesse.” He was easily twice her size, and she was finding it hard to breathe, trapped as she was under her body. Not that she was surprised his first instinct under the influence of a PTSD flashback was to protect someone else.

She felt his ragged breathing slow, and kept herself quiet. She didn't know what sort of flashback he was having, and she had heard stories of people with PTSD lashing out at others they couldn’t recognize. “Jesse.”

He rolled off her, and rapidly scooted back until he hit the side of the bed. Miyala pushed herself up on her hands and knees, and slowly, telegraphing her movements, sat in front of him.

“Jesse. What are five things you can see?”

His eyes were focusing on things she couldn’t see, and she said it again, and his eyes started to focus on her before flipping back.

“Five things. Um, me? Do you see me?” She held her hand out, slowly, keeping it raised above her lap.

“There’s,” she looked around wildly, her own panic for him making her breaths shallow, “Um, there’s your shirt on the floor. The one you wore as a joke after the memorial day weekend. The Ryloth one.”

His hand grasped hers, and quietly, he said, “The bulletin board with my schedule on it. Chest of drawers that hold less clothes than my floor.”

She couldn’t stop the ghost of a smile making her mouth’s corners quirk up. How like Jesse to use humor in a situation like this.

“And there’s my bag, ready to go. Which we should.” He studied her, and she nodded.

“It was a misfire. Pyutro texted. She even said sorry. Which she doesn’t do, not really.” She scooted forward, and making sure to telegraph her movements she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He clenched his fingers in the back of her shirt, grounding himself in the feel of her shirt and her body underneath. She felt his fingers splay out, pulling her closer to him until she was tucked under his chin and sitting in his lap. His hands ran up and down her spine, and his breathing evened out, his heartbeat slowing.

“She’s a vet. She knows the score.”

Miyala started to answer, but was interrupted by the door opening. Fives, Hardcase and Rex poked their heads in cautiously, clearly relieved that no physical harm had been done. She felt Jesse raise his head to look up at them, and Miyala could feel the reverberations of his voice through his chest as he said, “We’re leaving. Now.”

She untangled herself, scooting backwards and standing up, eyeing the slight tremor in his hands as he reached down for the bag he had packed. He roughly past his worried family, and Miyala gave them an apologetic look as she hurried after him. They shrugged it off, clearly understanding, and Hardcase waved his hands, shooing her out to the car.

Jesse was throwing his bag into the back when she reached the car, laptop tucked under his arm, and she hopped into the driver’s seat. She reached out and grasped his hand firmly, before stepping on the gas. They spent the drive in a silence that was both strained and comfortable, a tense agreement not to discuss his flashback. She led the way up the stairs to her apartment, tucked into the top floor of the complex. “With any luck, we won’t hear anything from here,” she said finally, unlocking her door. She held it open for him as she led the way inside, locking it back behind her before she made he way to the kitchen.

The living room, dining room,and kitchen were all one in her little apartment,and  the bedroom and bathroom were just down a short hall right across from each other. Her overstuffed couch was shoved into the corner to the right of the hallway facing the island and counters that made up the areas devoted to the kitchen, and she slumped onto one of the black chipped wooden barstools where her papers she had been graded were strewn over the bar. He sunk down on the couch, and pulled out his laptop, seemingly determined to shut down any questions. She stayed quiet, only pulling out her own laptop to order from the nearby Corellian delivery place. Their cheesy flatbread sounded just about right at the moment.

They worked in silence, Miyala getting back into the rhythm of checking her students sources, grammar and reasonings to the sound of Jesse’s fingers tapping away at the keys on his laptop. Eventually, the strain left, and the silence became truly comfortable, the two of them working on their own projects.

Miyala was so deep into her grading, she didn’t notice the doorbell, and was only made aware when Jesse put a plate with two slices down on top of the paper she was grading. Her stomach growled angrily as the heavenly scent reached her, and she stuffed a piece into her mouth, warbling out a muffled thank you between bites.

She paused.

“Did you pay for the food?”

“Yes.”

She sat up and glared at him. “I was going to do that.”

“Already paid for,” he said, smugly taking a bit of his own slice, saluting her with a beer he grabbed from her fridge. She sighed theatrically at him, but took another bite. Besides you’re giving me a place to stay away from the fireworks. Other family isn’t in town.”

She shrugged at that, “I  _ guess  _ you may pay for the flatbread then.”

He snorted, and took the last bite of his own flatbread. She turned back to her grading, starting in on the second to last paper. Her phone buzzed, and she checked it to see Pyutro had sent another text that they were starting. Listening intently, she could hear a faint pop in the distance, but only if she strained her hearing. Jesse didn’t seem to notice, intent on his coding, and internally, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Scrawling a 96 on the top of the paper, which privately she thought she needed to find a way to congratulate her student on, she picked up the last, scowling slightly at the name. She always had a few students that never put in the amount of work they should, and this particular one was one of the worst offenders. Althe was an entitled brat, but of course she was not allowed to say such things.

The paper was his usual sort of work: plagiarized, incompetent, and disdainful. She vindictively scrawled a 53 on the top, and circled it for good measure. He was a trust fund brat, but she was a highly awarded professor, and the school often talked up her employment there as a selling point for young psychology applicants. She was one of the few teachers who could fail him and face no consequences from Dean Vitiate, who was the head of the College of Sciences and a corrupt individual Miyala was hoping she could get tossed out eventually.

Lost in thought as she shuffled her papers around into their respective files, she didn’t notice Jesse awkwardly leaning on the bar next to her until he spoke. “Thank you.”

She jumped and stifled a shriek, but calmed quickly. “It was no problem, really. You’re a good friend and a brilliant student and I was happy to help.  _ Am  _ happy to help.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Even after I flattened you earlier?”

The barstool creaked as she swivelled to face him. “I don’t know where that flashback took you, and I won’t ask. But your first instinct was to try and protect me. You’re a good man, Jesse.” she looked up at him earnestly, placing her hand on the one he rested on the counter as he leaned upon it.

One of her lekku twitched, the purple bruising on it from where she had landed on it wrong twisting away from him, but from the look in his eye, Miyala knew he’d seen it. “Jesse. I’m fine. It happens. I landed on it wrong.”

“After I shoved you down.”

“Jesse!” Her voice raised, and he flinched, and she winced. “I’m sorry for shouting. But. I’m fine. If you need my forgiveness you had it. I’m more worried about you. If you’re getting the help you need and all.”

His hand rose to hover over her lek, carefully not touching it, but the meaning was clear. Her free hand rose to hold his raised hand, and she repeated, “I’m fine.”

“I still hurt you.”

“It will heal. It’s just a bruise. I’ve gotten worse from walking into walls.” Her attempt at reassuring humor fell flat and he frowned at her.

_ Fuck it _ , she thought, and leaned forward and hugged him. His arms wrapped around her, and he steadied, drawing comfort from her refusal to push him away. “Stop punishing yourself,” she mumbled into his chest. “If I need to find you a therapist or someone to talk to, I can call in some favors.”

“VA won’t cover it. Republic is notoriously stingy.”

“I did some work for a friend, helped her collate research and pulled some strings to get her introduced to people for her doctorate and research grants. She won’t charge.”

“Most counselors I’ve looked at specialize in actual disorders and interpersonal conflict.”

“She got her Bachelor’s through the GI Bill and specializes in PTSD.”

“I. I’ll meet with her. Once.”

Miyala leaned back. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I won’t make you do anything. But therapy is important.”

He looked down at her, and his shoulders hunched. “I didn’t want.” His eyes narrowed as he struggled to put words to what he was considering, and Miyala waited for him to finish. “I didn’t. Didn’t want to admit it.”

Miyala nodded. She understood. She had her own PTSD, but hers was not from war but from her childhood. She had waited until she no longer could bear her memories and was self-destructing before she sought help. She did not want to see her friend do the same.

“I hate admitting anything is wrong with me. That I’ve… messed up or…” The words came out of him in a rush, like a dam had cracked and he couldn’t stop it. “Our father and his brothers, they pushed so hard for us to be perfect, for us all to go into the military and carry on the  _ family tradition _ . We’re Mandalorian, we must be fighters, right? And anytime I think I might be less than what my father wanted , I…” He trailed off, and shook his head. Words failed him, and they failed Miyala too, who just held him tighter.

She had wondered why there was no elder family members at the memorial day celebration, had wondered at the intensity of the comradery of the brothers and cousins. Now she didn’t.

“He was friends with a bunch of Kaminoans. They passed on all their banthashit about ahceiving perfection in your kids and all.”

Miyala took in a breath. She knew Kaminoans, and their culture was singularly despised for their treatment of kids the world over. There were rumors about how far they would go to ensure their ideals were being met, their striving for ‘genetic excellence’. She hated to put down the entirety of a culture and nation, but the few Kaminoans that were exiled or left their small nation-state often brought chilling tales, even if Kamino itself always refuted the claims.

“I’m sorry.” She fumbled for words, and the apology fell out. She knew he probably didn't want to hear it: she hated when people apologized to her about her own childhood, but- “Any time you need to talk or vent, I’m here. Or just drink a six pack in silence,” she added wryly.

He snorted. “I’ll take you up on the last one.”

“There’s Rylothian Whisky in the upper left cabinet, but humans can’t handle it.”

He laughed, the somber mood slipping away. “Miyala, the beer will do fine.”

She gestured with her chin at his unfinished beer sitting on the floor next to the couch. “Finish your damn drink then.”

Coldness seeped into her as he dropped his arms from around her and picked his beer up off the floor, holding her gaze with his own as he chugged it, tossing it into her trashcan as he strolled to her fridge and grabbed another. She made grabby hands, and he grabbed another, sending it sliding across the counter. She popped the top off using the counter, a well rehearsed move developed in her own college days, even as Jesse just twisted it off.

He smirked at her, and she mock glared, sipping her own beer. He flopped back down onto the couch, and picked his laptop up, as she hid her own smile. The two fell back into their silence as they went back to working on their own projects.Eventually, Miyala stretched, slipping off the barstool, and heading back to her own room. She grabbed a spare comforter from the closet in her room, and headed back out to toss it to Jesse.

His nose wrinkled as he caught it. “Rainbow Pretty Princess? Do you have…. Anything else?”

Miyala fought valiantly to keep her tone even and unemotional. “Nope.”

Her eyes twinkled as he glared at her, and she strolled back to her room in victory.

* * *

 

“Jesse, if you don’t wake up, I’m sending this picture to Fives,” she said in a sing-song voice as she tapped his shoulder to wake him up. Jesse was curled up, drooling on her spare pillow, snuggled up happily in the very brightly colored Pretty Princess comforter. His eyes blinked blearily open, and then her words registered and he dove for the phone in her hand.

“No, you aren’t!” Victory was his as he snatched the phone from her grasp, and she hid a smile as she mock-pouted.

He gave her an odd look “How do you have Fives’ number, anyways?”

She shrugged. “Your brother is very charming. We talk.” More like Fives poked fun at her and Jesse’s friendship with “Hot for Teacher” memes and links to lurid student/teacher romance novels. She wasn’t going to tell Jesse that bit though, since she assumed he was aware of what could be said about their friendship.

“Oh,” he said. Miyala raised an eyebrow, but let the flicker of disappointment in his eyes slide. She assumed it was that his more rambunctious and rebellious brother had an avenue for teasing, and she snorted quietly before heading back to the counter where the morning’s take out sat, still warm. “I got pancakes, bacon and hashbrowns from Dex’s. Figured it was a solid choice.”

He shook himself slightly, and stood up. Jesse had slept shirtless, and she snuck a appreciative glance as his muscular torso as he sleepily trudged over to the food. He didn’t notice her glance, and single-mindedly started loading his plate up with the majority of the pancakes and bacon. They both sat at the bar, enjoying the lazy weekend morning as they bantered about various subjects.

An unfamiliar chime echoed slightly through the room, and Jesse broke up from his tangent about programming jokes to hurry over to the outlet where his phone was plugged in. He checked his text messages, and grimaced. “I’ve gotta head out.”

He hesitated and Miyala offered, “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Appreciate it,” he said, grabbing his stuff and throwing it into his bag before ducking into her bathroom.

* * *

 

With the end of the summer came an increase in meiloorun spice drinks, and Miyala wasn’t ashamed to admit they were her seasonal favorite. She ceased the caramel macchiato orders, and started on the meiloorun lattes, and Jesse rolled his eyes every time he saw her with one. The first semester of his second year working on his thesis brought an end to data collection and a beginning to the analysis and the writing of the actual paper, along with an increase in difficulty in his actual classes.

Miyala was sipping on her latte when Fives and Jesse dropped into the seats across from her in her favorite little corner booth. The two had been colder towards each other recently, and Miyala was gratified to see them roughhousing warmly and grinning about some joke she had missed.

Her lekku coiled lazily in the sun, and she smiled lethargically at them. “Seems like you two are getting along better.”

Jesse spoke up quickly, darting a glance at Fives, “We had a miscommunication and we finally spoke about it. Everything is cleared up.” Miyala had an inkling of what that miscommunication was, but she stifled the idea, locking it back in the box of things Miyala was Not Allowed To Consider.

Fives snickered, clearly finding the subject hilarious, and Jesse gave him an annoyed glance before turning back to Miyala. “You realize Professor Traska is a sadist, right?” He was clearly trying to change the subject, and Miyala let him.

Miyala laughed. “Ohhh, yes. She likes to come to my office and laugh about the assignments she assigns. She has good reasons for all of them, and she doesn’t assign a lot, but I am aware she makes them hard.”

Fives muttered, “I can tell you what she makes hard.” Jesse covered his face with his hands, but she could see the red in his cheeks.

“You’re not her type,” Miyala said dryly. “I would know- I’m going to be her Maid of Honor.”

“Really? Who are you going to go to the wedding with?” Jesse looked curious, and she couldn’t blame him. The professors had been tight knit, and not a single student was given details. Of course, this meant it was the topic most open to speculation on campus. That Miyala had just admitted to being a key part was a juicy piece of gossip, and from the look on Fives’ face, he was trying to work it to his advantage somehow.

“I’m going on my own,” she said, rolling her eyes slightly. “It’s a long engagement, the wedding is set for next year in the summer. I’ve already been trying to manage Ilia: she’s a right terror when she wants to be. That leaves no time for looking for a date, since I’m practically being their wedding planner.”

“Oh,” Jesse said.

Miyala raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue that line of conversation. Too dangerous, too much, too…. Terrifying. She could admit that to herself: fear was her constant companion. 

She brushed it away, and smiled slightly. “Aside from Traska being Traska, how are the rest of your classes going?”

“Professor Rai is a dick,” Fives announced. One of the baristas snorted as she cleared off a table, and Fives winked at her. She dropped a glass, flustered, but smiled bashfully. The Pantoran woman’s cheeks were dark blue, but she turned back to her job, grabbing another glass someone had left on the table.

“Let me help you with that,” Fives said, getting up to help the young woman out. 

Jesse rolled his eyes, sharing a commiserating glance with Miyala, and as Fives started laughing with the woman, Jesse admitted, “I finally went to see Liidane.”

Miyala perked up. “Oh good! Is it helping?”

He nodded slightly, his shoulders tense. “Yeah, it is. I…” He hesitated, and glanced back at Fives, who was trailing after the barista helping her out grabbing dishes, and continued, satisfied his more rambunctious brother was distracted, “I had a panic attack the other day, when I was out at the reserve and some idiot started shooting at birds, but she gave me some grounding techniques. And just having someone to talk to.”

Miyala noded. “Someone who won’t judge and will help you work through your thoughts and emotions?”

“Yeah,” he said, clearly relieved that she understood.

“Fives and I were in the same battalion, and some General came in.” His hands tightened, but Miyala stayed quiet beyond putting her hand on top of his. Jesse wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t want to tell her.

“Kriffing Krell,” he said, and Miyala stiffened. Krell was well known: she hadn’t realized that Jesse had been part of the 501st during his short lived tenure while General Skywalker had been recalled for an investigation into some Senator. Actually- she had no idea which unit Jesse had served with. Not until now.

“Everytime I hear gunfire or explosions, all I can hear is the firing squad.” Miyala tensed even more. Everyone knew there had been two soldiers who had been thrown in front of an illegal firing squad. Their brothers in arm had refused to fire, but the names of everyone in that  _ incident  _ had never been released.

“I went into Special Forces after the incident, but after my contract expired I got out and went to school. I was good with computers and slicing, and computers are easy, so…” He trailed off, shrugging at her.

The bitterness and anger Jesse kept with him made sense all of a sudden. Miyala stared at him, and then blurted out, “I’m sorry. And I’m glad Krell’s dead.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Fives said, sliding into the booth. He shoved a piece of flimsi into his pocket, and for once, there was no humor in his eyes or smirk on his face. “Bastard got what he deserved.”

Jesse nodded sharply at Fives, and Fives knocked his shoulder against Jesse’s. They exchanged dark grins, and Miyala blanched, suddenly realizing who the second soldier must have been.

Fives nodded quietly at her, confirming her suspicions, and then grinned, banishing the dark conversation. “I got me and Echo a date,” he said, triumph brightening his grin to a true smile. “She’s got a friend who’s super into political science and the regulation of the holonet. Echo is going to go nuts for him.”

Miyala snorted. “It’s so nice to know you can take time out of your flirting to find your twin a nice man.”

Fives tipped his glass to her, and said, “I’m a real saint.”

Jesse choked, turning his laughter into a coughing fit, and Fives punched his shoulder. The tension dissipated completely, and Miyala shoved the conversation into a list of things to contemplate later.

* * *

 

The Morrison house was loud and rambunctious when Miyala arrived, her arms full of presents (wrapped in blue and orange- she knew everyone’s favorite colors at this point). Fives cheerfully waltzed over and took a bunch from her arms, shouting, “Miyala’s here,” back into the house. She headed to the living room where everyone was lounging on couches, many still in their pj’s.She stopped in the threshold, standing next to Cody, who had a mug of tea.

He was clearly avoiding the warzone: there was paper and ribbon and boxes strewn everywhere. Hardcase blew right in between them, leaping to slap the archway above their heads with a laugh. Echo and Fives were tugging a gift between them, and looked up to see what Hardcase was laughing about and gaped.

Miyala had a sinking feeling and looked up to see where Hardcase had tapped the archway, and there it was: a sprig of mistletoe. Cody shrugged at her in a ‘why not’ gesture, and handed his tea to Rex, who was struggling with a sudden coughing fit.

What the hell: it’s Life Day. She nodded at Cody, and he grinned, placing a hand behind her back, and dipping Miyala back as he kissed her. His family cheered as he pulled her back up and righted her. “Hardcase, you little shit,” he announced.

Hardcase gave a double thumbs up and an unrepentant grin, but as Cody answered Miyala’s eyes strayed to Jesse. Jealousy simmered in his eyes, a scowl tugging at his lips, but it disappeared under a veneer of cheerful amusement as he met her eyes. She hesitated, and then instead of joining the rest, she disappeared into the kitchen. Guilt tugged at her belly, and she brushed the feeling away. Or tried to. She wasn’t beholden to Jesse for anything, and she was his advisor. Ethically, she couldn’t start anything with him, even if she wanted to.

Especially if she wanted to, and as great a kisser as Cody had proved himself to be, it felt entirely wrong. And she did want to kiss Jesse. She couldn’t deny she found him attractive and that she enjoyed his company.

_ Kriff _ . She was in trouble. She leaned on the counter, trying to get her hands to stop shaking, taking deep breaths as panic set in. A hand fell on her shoulder, and she whirled around with a yelp. Jesse stood in front of her, and the anger in his eyes softened when he saw her panic. “Miyala…”

She tried to take a step back, but she was against the counter, and ended up smashing her heel into the wooden frame. She hissed in pain, and she heard him swear. “Shit, Miyala. I…” His voice trailed off, and she heard him whisper under his breath, “What am I doing?”

“I… I should go,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry. I… yeah. I need to leave. I have a, uh, appointment. With Ilia. And classes to prepare for. I shouldn’t have come anyway,” she babbled wildly. The panic attack was getting worse and worse, and she started to leave (run away) when Jesse wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back. “Miyala. Stop. Breathe. With me. In and out.”

His hands were steady on her waist, and she slowly calmed, her vision sharpening as she relaxed. Once the anxiety had lost its grip on her, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

She looked up in surprise, and then he quietly confirmed her suspicions. “I was jealous, and about to take it out on you.”

“And I was trying to run,” she answered. She shook her head. ‘I should have expected something. I mean, there’s a reason I have to make a ‘no mistletoe’ rule for my students. Part of being a female Twi’lek,” she added bitterly.

“Hardcase just thought he was being funny. I don’t think he thought it through.” His expression turned darker. “And I’m sorry your students do that.”

“Althe tried it anyway.”

“The kid you failed last semester?” His hands tightened on her waist in anger.

“I’m about to fail him again,” she huffed. “He has learned nothing, and then he doesn’t even try on his work.” She shook her head irritatedly.

Jesse stayed quiet in response. “I am sorry.”

Miyala looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time in their conversation. “No, it’s fine. I understand.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s more than that, Miyala. I-.”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m your advisor.” She hesitated and admitted, “As much as I would like… I cannot get involved with you. Not while I’m your advisor. It would call your entire thesis into question.”

Hope bloomed in his eyes. “But after.”

“Maybe,” she cautioned.

“It’s a better chance then I thought I had,” he replied, his eyes searching her own.

Miyala put her hand on his chest and pushed. “Jesse. I can’t.” He let himself be pushed away, and she turned her back to him, opening up the fridge to look for something. Anything. Her voice was barely a whisper as she added, “It would be better if this hadn’t happened. If I… we.. didn’t know. I…” She swallowed, acutely aware of his solid presence leaning against the countertop, completely intent on her. “I don’t want to have to pretend. That there isn't this thing between us. That we don’t care about each other. That we’re just advisor and student.” She closed the fridge, and started realigning each of the magnets into precise rows. One by one, each magnet was pushed into place as she tried to steady herself against the rising tide within her.

“Right, because we haven’t been moving towards this since we started working on our project. There’s been something from the beginning, Miyala.” His voice was a contradictory mix of hard reason and soft pleading. “Don’t shut me out.”

She turned and met his gaze. Slowly, hesitantly, shattering every bit of herself, she spoke. “I should go. I’m just your advisor. Nothing more. And this muddies the waters too much.”

Every step she took down the hall towards the front door drove a stake into her heart. With each footstep, she clamped viciously down on the quiet voice inside her that said to stay.  _ I’m doing the right thing _ , she told herself.

As she reached the door, against her better instincts she turned back and looked behind her. Jesse was standing at the entrance to the hallway from the dining room. She feared she would see his expression in her nightmares for a long time: the anger, the understanding, the betrayal, the despair, the heartbreak, and the resignation all twisted together.

When she finally reached her own home, she angrily slammed her car door shut, and stormed upstairs, her hands shaking enough to make it harder for her to unlock her own door. The apartment, which had always felt cozy and inviting, now felt harsh and confining. Evidence of her friendship with Jesse ( _ Which you ruined _ , the voice inside her whispered) was all over. His favorite beer was in her fridge. Coding diagrams and slicing cheat sheets were taped to the wall, and there was a bright blue blanket on her couch where he sometimes spent the night.

The anger seeped away from her, and she let her knees crumple, sinking to the floor and covering her mouth as she let out gasping sobs. This wasn’t what she wanted.

She never should have fallen in love in the first place. That was a mistake.

* * *

 

Miyala copes. Or that’s what she tells herself. Her and Jesse have stilted conversations about his thesis and she deletes his number from her phone, limiting him to just holo-mail, and she finds a new coffee shop and stops drinking caramel macchiatos. She starts working much more closely with her fellow professors, and if Liidane gives her sad looks when she thinks Miyala doesn’t notice, then it’s all Miyala’s fault for introducing the therapist and professor to Jesse.

She’s in her office, trying on her Maid of Honor dress for Shaa and Ilia’s wedding when someone knocks at the door. It’s a yellow mermaid style dress and it’s shoulderless, relying on her bust to keep it up. She’s got gold bangles on and it looks lovely with her golden makeup and red skin, and she forgets herself when she calls out, “Come in.”

Shaa said she was coming later today: that’s Miyala’s excuse for her lack of foresight.

It’s Jesse who opens the door, the deadened trepidation dulling his expression all too familiar to her at this point. As if she’s watching a slow motion recap of a bolo-ball fumble, she sees his eyes widen in awe and then the emotion behind them shutter and shut down.

“You look nice,” he says gruffly.

“Thanks.” She winces at how taken aback her voice sounds. There’s a chasm and a wall between them all at once, and she doesn’t know how to break it down.

Well, she does know, but it would be entirely unethical. There are lines she’s not allowed to cross. “Shaa and Ilia are getting married. It’s going to be a small ceremony. I’m maid of honor.”

He nods. “Oh. I just wanted- I just wanted to drop off a copy of my thesis. Just editing left, and then presentations before the committee and then it’s over, and you’ll no longer be my advisor.”

She nods. “I know.”

The silence stretched between them. Her phone buzzes, and she hesitates again. She could make up an excuse, answer the phone. She wants to run. She’s spent her whole life running, changing the subject to avoid being caught out.

Jesse deserves more than that.

“I… have been pushing you away. I didn’t want to spend all my time with you and not be able to be  _ with  _ you.” This apology has been coming for two months now. Two months since she ran from the Christmas party. “I was scared, and I ran and pushed you away and shut down everything that wasn’t about your thesis, and if we-you- didn’t have the thesis, I probably might have cut off contact completely. You deserve better.”

He’s completely silent, letting her fumble and stutter over her words, and she’s grateful. It’s a fight for each single syllable, but the more battles she fights, the closer she gets to winning the metaphorical war and the words tumble out easier. “Anyone else would be better for you, but… if after you get your thesis approved and you want to pursue a relationship, I would be open to it. Don’t know why you’d want to, but…” She trailed off and shrugged.

“You can make it up to me,” he said dryly. Sobering, he added, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious you shut me out completely instead of talking about it. We could have worked something out. I made a misstep ambushing you with it at Life Day, but then you wouldn’t let me apologize or explain. I know you’re my advisor. I know that a relationship now would be a huge ethical violation. I’m not an idiot,” he ended harshly, and Miyala flinched.

He was completely right of course.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “What happens the next time we disagree like this? Are you going to shut me out or are you going to talk to me?”

Miyala’s shoulders hunched. What could she even say? “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

Looking down at the ground, arms pulled tight around herself, she didn't realize that he had moved until his ever present combat boots were right in front of her bare feet. “Probably. But I love you, Miyala. And if you’re willing to work with me, then I want to pursue a relationship with you after my thesis is completed.”

Shock flooded through her, and she jerked her head up to gape at him. “Even after everything?”

“Force help me, but yes.” Bitter amusement glittered in his eyes. 

Then… there was only one last thing for to admit. “And I love you too. It’s why I was so scared. I… was trying to protect myself, for years, decades, by shutting people out. You broke through all my walls with your humor and your personality and… everything.” Words failed her and she finished lamely. “I was trying to protect myself and I only hurt those I cared most about.”

Guilt nearly overwhelmed her, and she rubbed at her watery eyes, probably smudging her make-up terribly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Going forward, perhaps we should try to reclaim our friendship.” He offered a kyore branch, and she nodded, grateful for the opportunity. And then he leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “And you can make it up to me after my thesis is completed.” The sudden change of tone and subject left her disoriented, and the sudden closeness of his body left her nearly overwhelmed.

She stifled a whimper, her skin breaking out into goosebumps. His breath was warm as it ghosted over her neck, and she gasped out, “Oh? You have ideas then?” This was  _ not _ part of staying friends: cruel man.

He chuckled, so close to her ear cones, and she  _ whined _ , clapping a hand over her mouth as he leaned even closer, putting a hand on her waist, rubbing his thumb in little circles over her hip through the thin material of the dress. “Many, Miyala,  _ love _ . Unfortunately, they’ll have to wait.”

He straightened back up with a smirk, and strolled right back to the door, tossing her a wink as she stared at him.

_ That bastard. _

* * *

 

The next time they met, it was back at her old coffee place. She was in line when Jesse tapped her on her shoulder, and gestured back at the normal booth. “I got here early and grabbed a Caramel Macchiato. You look great, by the way.”

“You’re not the only tease between us,” she retorted. 

His answering grin wa completely unrepentant. “Oh, is that how we’re playing it for the next three months?”

She answered with all the serenity Shaa possessed. “Of course. You started it.”

He tsked at her. “Excuses, love.” His voice deepened even as he quieted on the last word, and she shivered. He grinned in his victory and she mock glared at him.

“I edited your paper. You won’t be laughing when I tell you I wore out my red pen.”

He blanched, and Miyala mentally ticked off a scoreboard in her head. Jesse 2, Miyala 2.

She pulled the stack of flimsi out of her bag and handed the stack to him. He flipped through it, and then raised an eyebrow, asking the obvious question wordlessly.

“It was my red pen I’ve had for three years. The lucky one. It was a good paper,” she admitted. “Now you just need to start preparing for the defense. I won’t be there, but I can give you a list of resources….”

Hours passed as the two spent the day talking about strategies, possible questions the panel would ask, various angles of attack, and what information he might need to learn outside his own thesis to supplement his defense. Occasionally, one of them would get up to order drinks for them both, but for the most part, they were wholly absorbed in their project.

Privately, Miyala didn’t want to admit how much she had missed this. There was still tension between them, and boundaries had tightened between them. There was no longer discussions at her apartment over beer and take-out, and they carefully avoided personal discussions beyond the shallow chit-chat that generally accompanies most conversations.

And yet there were still hints of what awaited the two once Miyala was no longer Jesse’s advisor. Her legs tangled with his under the booth, and casual brushes as they sat together were accompanied by warm looks and darkened eyes. 

It was torture, wonderfully excruciatingly painful to sit next to the man she loved, the man who loved her back, and be separated by propriety. Each glance and careful redirection of a conversation that got too familiar banked up the fire burning in her gut.

Three months.

She could wait. Perhaps.

* * *

 

A week before the presentation, Miyala was woken up at 3 AM by phone merrily singing away. Irritated, she fumbled for it on her nightstand, grimacing until she saw the caller ID. 

Jesse.

Frowning, she answered, putting it on speaker phone so she didn’t have to hold it up, dropping her phone onto the pillow next to her as Jesse’s voice filtered out of it.

“Can I come over?” No greeting or explanation, and even without considering the phone’s connection altering his voice, his tone and inflection were off.

Miyala hesitated. She didn’t want to cross the boundaries they had reset, but Jesse wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t a reason. “Of course,” she said.

He grunted in answer, and she heard him shuffling around. “I’ll be there in ten,’ he said, and her phone beeped as the call ended.

She stared up at the ceiling, and dragged her hands across her face. She tossed aside the covers, kicking out angrily when the comforter only partly flopped off of her and remained wrapped around her legs. She changed quickly, pulling on a bra and sweatpants instead of just an old T-shirt from some lecture she had given.

Trudging to the fridge, she pulled out two beers. She still had Jesse’s favorites stashed in her fridge, sitting in the door right next to her own favorite microbrew. Her mouth quirked up as she eyed his cheap but strong alcohol next to her hippie beer from a local brewery. She heard his knock and the door and hurried to opening it, not expecting the redness in his eyes or the tension coiled in his body.

“What’s wrong?” Propriety be damned: Jesse was her friend. She pulled him into a hug, and his arms tightened around her. “Nightmares,” he said, “PTSD ones. I keep dreaming about the professors and the committee and then it gets mixed up with the firing squad and-.” He shook his head, cutting himself off, and burrowed his head into the crook of her neck. “I'm sorry for waking you, I just-”

Miyala felt like the lowest scum on the planet for being irritated with him earlier.

“It’s alright. Jesse. What do you need?” Her voice was a gentle coo, and her hand ran over his scalp, her fingers circling over the stubble that he had yet to shave off.

He lifted his head up to look at her, and then his eyes flickered over to the counter where the two bottles of beer waited. “That beer might be nice,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

She pulled back and frowned at him, blanching as she realized, “You aren’t relying on alcohol to-”

“-No!” He scowled down at her, and then added, “No, I’ve been staying away from it for the most part. And right now? Just one. It’s not quite enough to affect me.” He frowned, adding, “You know that.”

Anger burned in his eyes, and Miyala could only admit, “I know, It’s just… I remembered, and…. I worry. I don’t want you to start relying on it.”

He studied her, and then stared back at it. “You’re right,” he grumbled.

He was still holding her in his arms, their bodies pressed together, but tonight, Miyala wasn’t going to begrudge him the contact, even as worry niggled at her mind. She leaned back and tapped the arm around her shoulders. “The couch is right over there.”

He nodded, and let go of her long enough to follow her to the couch, where he pulled her back onto his lap as he shifted to get comfortable. He seemed content to have her there, but Miyala was tense. Eventually, he spoke, “I’m afraid I’ll have a flashback in the middle of my defense.”

He faltered after that, clearing his throat. “Miyala… I...” Again, he cut himself off, shaking his head as if he could shake away the nightmares and the fear.

“Would standing up be a trigger for you,” she asked hesitantly.

The tightening of his arms and quick intake of breath was answer enough for her. Her eyes narrowed, determined to make this better. “Then we get you a conference room where everyone can sit around a table, instead of you standing in front of the panel.”

He nodded. “That would help,” he admitted. He grimaced, clearly uncomfortable admitting to vulnerability.

She turned in his arms so she could face him. “Jesse. I know the people involved, and they wouldn’t want to exacerbate your PTSD. They’ll agree to it, and be mindful of it. Neither will they pry into what caused it. And as your advi-.”

“Miyala.” She broke off, startled. Jesse rarely used that tone with her, and it caught her off guard. He stared at her, clearly irritated. Hie emotions were giving her whiplash, but she quieted, meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t come here at 3 am because you’re my advisor, and right now, I don’t want to think about it. I just need-.” He shook his head, cutting himself off, but Miyala understood enough.

“Wait here,” she murmured, slithering backwards off his lap to hurry to her room. She grabbed her phone, her charger, and her comforter, tossing the big blanket over her shoulders as she reentered her living room, plugging her phone in and turning off the lights before slipping back onto the couch with him. He had stretched out while she was in her room, being rather familiar with her couch, and he wrapped an arm around her as she snuggled into his side under the blanket.

Awkward at first, perhaps, but the tension dissipated, and Miyala rapidly began to doze off, until he spoke up. “We have a week left. Tonight I just want… Tonight I just want to be near you. No worrying about being my advisor, no worrying about the thesis. I didn’t want these damn barriers between us.”

She wiggled around until she was facing him, pressing her forehead to his. Her legs tangled with his, and she let out a shaky exhale. “I know.” One of her lekku dipped over her shoulder, and his ever-present stubble scratched it as he pulled her closer, hooking his chin over her shoulder.

She felt his next words as his voice vibrated through her shoulder, “Force, Miyala. I just want to be with the woman that I love.”

Force, she wanted to kiss him. But there were still boundaries they had to keep, and Miyala knew once she broke one of those few remaining walls between them, she would never stop. Two years hey had danced around each other. Two years of pining and longing and wishing, and now there was only a week left before the thesis was no longer in between them.

“If it keeps the nightmares away, you can spend the next week here,” she promised.

He huffed. “You’re running again.”

“I… How about this: You are the man that I love, and if my presence is helpful, then I will do everything in my power to help you.” The admission is cracked and timid: she’s still nervous, still terrified to reach out. In the dark, it’s easier.

“Better.” His voice was dry, and he shifted, gently pushing her onto her back as he leaned over her. Miyala felt his lips against her forehead: a gentle kiss of thanks, far sweeter than she anticipated from the weathered veteran. She could barely make out his form hovering over her in the dark.

He pulled back, and he brought a hand up to cup her face. His voice was hoarse as he said, “I wish…”

She propped herself up on her elbow, and raised her other arm to cup his cheek. “One week,” she whispered.

He hummed, and leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “One week.” With that, he twisted, pulling her with him so she was lying on top of him. He pulled the blanket over them, his arms tightening around her as she snuggled into his colder skin.

* * *

 

An hour before Jesse would step in front of the panel, Miyala was pacing nervously in her office. She didn’t doubt him: his research, his thesis, everything- it was solid work, fantastic even. To be quite honest, she almost wished he was one of her students. The level of precision and the quality of his work was something she would kill to get from her own students.

Her thoughts whirled in time to her feet, barefoot in her own office, her footsteps padded by the fluffy rugs everywhere. She had a stack of papers on her desk, but she couldn’t concentrate.

Someone knocked on the door, and she nearly injured her shoulder wrenching the door open. 

She tried to cover up her disappointment when she saw Professor Ilia there, but Ilia clearly saw it. “What, you don’t want to go over some of the changes we made to the seating plans?”

Miyala coughed, hiding a smile. Ilia was a hard, bitter woman. She was one of the world’s toughest critics, she never backed down, and she was more argumentative and inquisitive than a toddler. She was, however, one of the most loyal friends Miyala could ask for, and she was here to distract Miyala from her brooding.

It did appear this wasn’t all for Miyala’s aid though. Ilia looked troubled, once the wry grin left her face. “Shaa’s parents are going to be there,” she blurted out after letting the silence drag on.

Miyala winced. She had had the  _ joy _ of witnessing Ilia and Shaa’s parents one time. Ilia was terrified of them, and her fear made her combative and angry. It didn’t help that Ilia refused to admit to herself she was looking for some sort of parental approval, so she vacillated between trying to appease them as much as possible in a desperate attempt to win them over and then snapping at them and starting arguments when her fear took over.

Shaa had spent much of her childhood at boarding schools, and her relationship with her mother's was tense as well. Shaa’s parents were the one thing that Ilia and Shaa fought over, and now that Miyala knew they were coming, she was herself afraid for the two.

General Rai Vyirin and Admiral Nirra Vyirin were a prestigious pair as well. Nirra taught at the Naval Academy for the Republic, and Rai was the Defense Secretary. Ilia and Shaa then both felt they were “just academics”.

Miyala waited for Ilia to add more to her statement, and Ilia dragged her hands down her face, her lekku twitching spastically. “I’m scared,” Ilia finally admitted.

Miyala’s own lekku waved back and forth in sympathy, but she didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like being scared. I get angry, and then I make things worse, and her parents  _ are going to be there _ and then  _ they don’t like me _ and  _ I hate this _ .” She scowled angrily at the ground, cross her arms petulantly.

“Do you think you might be afraid because you want some sort of parental figure in your life,” Miyala ventured.

Ilia scowled at her, but here was no heat behind her expression, and after her initial reaction, she deflated. 

Slowly, haltingly, Ilia poured out all her terror about the upcoming wedding, as well as her own quiet joy at finally being married to Shaa. Miyala listened, and nodded in all the right places, and eventually Ilia sighed. “I think that’s it,” she said dryly. “Thanks for listening.” Ilia smiled slowly, her exhausted countenance perking up as she checked her chrono. She dropped her feet off the desk, and added, “It’s always so nice to know how much time you’re willing to sink into listening to your friends’ problems. The defense should be over in a few minutes.” Her voice wavered, and her eyes were red from tears, but Ilia was clearly building her walls back up. Humor was a defense mechanism they shared.

Miyala nearly gave herself whiplash diving for the chrono on her desk, fumbling for it. Ilia was right: Jesse would finish defending his thesis in a few minutes if it kept to the schedule. She slowly dropped it onto her desk, sitting back. She glanced at Ilia, who’s tired smile had turned into a grin.

“I’ve learned a thing or two from you, Ala. About being friends.”

“Sentiment,” Miyala retorted, and Ilia laughed, throwing her head back.

“Perhaps! My wedding is coming up though, and I find myself full of sentiment.”

“I suppose if there’s ever a time for it,” Miyala admitted. She stood up and opened her arms for a hug, and Ilia folded herself into the embrace. The taller togruta nearly picked up Miyala in her gratitude, and then stepped back. Miyala craned her neck up to look her friend in the eye- Ilia was taller than Jesse even without her montrals. Ilia nodded down at her, and turned, opening the door. She took to steps out, and leaned her head back in. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Ilia disappeared, and Jesse strode through the door, grinning. He closed the door behind him, and took two steps, halting in front of her. “It went  _ flawlessly _ . My thesis was successfully defended.” He drew out the last two words, clearly savoring them, and Miyala grinned.

His hands raised to cup her cheeks, his callouses scraping slightly at her skin, and he continued, “It seems I’m no longer in need of an advisor.”

Miyala’s voice cracked, “What a shame. I’m so happy for you.” The air nearly hummed around them, and they drew closer and closer.

He leaned in, close enough that Miyala could see all the little details of his dark brown irises, and paused, hesitating. Miyala closed the distance herself, savoring the feel of his lips against hers and the scratch of his ever present stubble. One of his hands dropped from her cheek to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he nipped gently at her bottom lip.

He drew back, pulling away, and Miyala opened her eyes. He was grinning, his thumb brushing over her cheek, and he said hoarsely, “I’ve waited far too long to do that.”

His other hand dropped to her waist, and he kissed her forehead, before pulling back and laughing quietly. Delight and joy weaved between the couple, and then Miyala asked, “Dinner at my place?”

“Sure,” he said, grinning at her. “What’s for dessert?”

Miyala rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop a grin. “Incorrigible. Ice cream, probably.”

He mock-pouted at her, but rallied quickly. “Take out?”

Miyala nodded, but then tapped her chin, “Well…” She trailed off, and shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“Miyala?”

“I… Um… There’s a new restaurant that just opened up. I know…” She trailed off again, and then forged ahead, her eyes flicking down, “I know we never really talked about what was going to happen tonight, but if you’re fine with it, maybe we could go out and eat? Unless you really want to do take-out. We can do the restaurant later?”

He was silent while he considered it. “Maybe take out tonight, and then the restaurant sometime during the weekend? Going on a date the night of my thesis being completed might be a bit…”

She snorted, suddenly aware of the timing. “Obvious? You’re right.” She reluctantly untangled herself to grab the papers she needed to grade. “The semester isn’t over for me- I do have papers to grade tonight, and perhaps that Pantoran place over on East Seventh Street? I know you mentioned it before we….” She trailed off, wincing. Her finger tapped nervously on the stack of papers she held in her hands before she slid it into her bag.

Jesse’s arms slid around her, pulling her back to his chest. “Miyala. The Pantoran place is fine. I have my own work, so no worries there. Stop panicking.”

She took a deep breath. “Right. You’re right.” She rested her arms on top of his, her fingers entangling with his own, and leaned her head back into his chest. “Sorry, I’m just-” She sighed. “Nervous, I guess.”

“Anticipation?” There was a teasing edge to his voice, but the sentiment behind the question was genuine.

“A little?” Miyala was never so thankful in her  _ life _ for having so much time to build a friendship before anything else. “Part of me wants to run because I run from everything that’s new and makes me nervous. Part of me is terrified I’ll mess this up. I want to make it- this- work. You’re important to me.”

She felt him nod, and he was silent for a moment before answering, “We’ll just have be open and honest then, yeah? You’re important to me, too,” he finished quietly.

“I know,” she said. 

“I’m nervous too,” he admitted. “But we’ll make it work. How long have we been friends? How long have we been working together through some rather stressful work?” The conviction in his voice settled her, and she relaxed, finally.

“Love you,” she added.

He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening slightly. “And I love you.”

They stood in silence, before Miyala said, “Pantoran. And- are you going to stay at my place tonight?”

“Sure,” he said, giving her a long look. He knew what she was asking, from the gleam in his eyes.

“Then we’ll stop by your place on the way to grabbing food.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, grabbing her bag while she snatched the folders she couldn’t fit inside and swooped down to grab her purse from the floor. They were careful not to touch as they made their way through the halls, but once they got into Miyala’s old car, he leaned over and kissed her again, soft and sweet.

* * *

 

Weighed down by multiple bags, it was a rather clumsy effort to get the two indoors. Jesse very carefully sat down his own pack, the food, and her backpack on the counter as she dropped her purse and folders on the couch. Without a word being spoken, Miyala began opening containers while Jesse grabbed a beer from the fridge for either of them and grabbed plates from her cabinet. The silence was comfortable as the two loaded their plates as they exchanged heated glances.

“Bar or couch?”

“Couch. You want to turn on one of your documentaries?”

“Sure,” she said, relaxing even more as they fell into their old routines. The only differences was the quick peck to the cheek and the lack of space between them as she used his lap as a legrest. He rolled his eyes, sitting his plate down on her shins as she began to wolf down her own portions, and the two turned their attention to the TV even as the anticipation between them built, banked by the calm normality.

Finished, Miyala put her plate down on the floor, vowing to remember to pick it up later. Jesse was still eating, and she snatched her fork from her plate to nab a piece of nuna from his plate. He mock glared at her, but picked up his plate to offer more to her. She grabbed another piece, and then dropped her fork back to the floor.

The scraping of his fork subsided as he finished, and he tapped her legs. She shifted, pulling her legs onto her own side of the couch as he grabbed her plate as well and put them in the sink.

Returning, he leaned over to kiss her, pulling her onto his own lap. A thought hit her as his tongue slipped into her mouth, but she was too late to warn him and he jerked back

“Mine was flavored for Twi’leks!” she blurted out as his face twisted. Twi’lek food was notoriously spicy, and it was above the range most humans could handle. It seemed Jesse was not one of the lucky few.

He was nearly panting, and she scooted off his lap as he hurried to the fridge to pull out a container of blue milk foregoing the cup to drink it out of the bottle. He glared at her over the top of the carton, and she giggled.

“Spicy enough for you?” She grinned at him, sitting back onto the couch.

“You think you’re funny,” he said, pointing the carton at her accusingly.

“It is quite hilarious,” she said. She stood up, and added, “Perhaps I should go brush my teeth.”

He rolled his eyes as she backed out of the room, but only said, “Make it up to me later.”

She poked her head back into the kitchen. “Ohh, I will. I am very... incredibly… sorry… for laughing at your misfortune.” She ducked back into the bathroom, unable to see his reaction, but brushed quickly, taking the time to remove her makeup and breathe for a second. Her reflection smiled gently back at her, and Miyala was hit with a burst of warm contentment.

She straightened up, marching out of the bathroom to find him sitting at the bar, staring out the window, looking contemplative. “Hey. You alright?”

He straightened, as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, smiling up at her. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he answered. He stood up, leaning down to press dozens of gentle kisses over her face, enjoying his newfound freedom to do so. “I’m very good.”

She beamed up at him, standing on her toes so she could kiss his tattoo. “Good.”

He slipped his hands around her waist before raising an eyebrow. “I believe there was something you wanted to make up to me,” he said, before hurriedly adding, “I can wait if-.”

She cut him off with a kiss. “Jesse. I’ve been waiting months for this.”

“Oh, no pressure then,” he answered

* * *

 

Miyala ran her fingers over the granite counters. “I can’t believe we bought a house  _ before _ getting married.” She twirled, happily examining the grand kitchen. Jesse leaned on the counters, watching her with a smile playing over his lips. “Sure, but hon, you let Ilia be your Maid of Honor. And you let her plan it.”

“I’m sorry,” Miyala answered. “I thought we were letting her and Echo plan it.”

“And she’s a mess.”

“She wanted to help, after everything I did for hers.” Miyala chided her fiance gently, gliding over to him to wrap her arms around his waist. He immediately embraced her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders.

“I know, Ala. She has good intentions. She just… might run Echo into the ground.”

Miyala snorted, suddenly. “I think I overheard him say something about ‘This is not lesbian gay solidarity’ to her.”

Jesse snickered, but didn’t say anything else, and they stood wrapped in each other's arms. The sun was pouring in from the large windows, and they lazily soaked up the warmth. Eventually, Miyala leaned back to look up at him, meeting his gaze. “We should unload the moving van.”

He mock-groaned. “That’s what Fives and Hardcase are for. I told them there was a six pack waiting for whoever helped.”

“Do you want them handling your computers?”

He blanched. “Point taken. I’m going to go unload the moving van.” He hurriedly strode out of the kitchen and Miyala watched him go for a second, admiring the view, and then followed.

There was a house to be furnished, and a future to be built. 


End file.
